Becoming Bucky Barnes
by LeisaTheGreat
Summary: POST CA:TWS. It's been weeks since the fight on the helicarrier and yet the Winter Soldier remains in DC, aimlessly wandering the streets as if looking for something. Or someone. His memories are returning to him slowly but it's painful and he's close to giving up. Only one thing keeps him going and that's the two names that keep going through his head. Bucky and Steve. ONESHOT.


_**Becoming Bucky Barnes**_

_**A/N: I have a newfound love for Captain America. But mostly of the friendship between Steve and Bucky. While this fic is very Bucky-centric as he tries to recover from his experiences as the Winter Solider, there's also a ton of Steve (and even sprinkles of Sam) along the way. Enjoy!**_

* * *

_Bucky... _The name sticks in his mind like it's supposed to mean something. Like in some distant, deeply-submerged part of his weary mind, it holds some kind of value. He knows it. Just like he knows the Captain who called him by that name. He just can't place how. Or from where. _Bucky... Bucky... Bucky... _He tries, he really does. He tries to remember who Bucky is and he tries to remember why he saved Captain America from drowning. But the Soldier is tired. So tired of trying, of struggling. And it never gets him anywhere.

So why does he keep at it? Why does he stay in DC, where's a wanted man? Why does he subject himself to living in filth and hiding beneath a tattered hood? Why can't he just _leave_? For now, the answers evade him and he's too tired to think very hard about them. For now, the fugitive just wants to sleep. So he walks on numb legs in a random direction, dark eyes wearily scanning the gloomy city before him for some shelter where he can rest.

It's raining. Not hard, just enough to cover everything in a fine mist and make the more privileged folks take out their umbrellas and scurry across the street like mice to avoid getting their clothes wet. But the former HYDRA assassin doesn't really mind it that much. He's hot and sweaty and dirty from living on the streets for close to three weeks now. The cool misting feels good and he allows himself to lift his stubbly chin toward the sky, stretching out his neck. It's always sore now because he has to keep it down all the time. Can't risk letting people see his face. But today, he decides he doesn't care. The Soldier stops walking for a moment and rolls his neck, closing his shadowed eyes against the pelleting droplets and takes a long, deep breath of the chilly morning air. _Bucky..._

"Excuse me, sir."

The assassin opens his eyes, body instinctively tensing at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. The man's metal arm flexes, almost hissing as its gears twist and the bearings grind. He feels the finger curling into a fist deep within his pocket, ready to fly at a moment's notice. But the owner of the voice, a young woman standing near the edge of the street, isn't talking to him. And he relaxes slightly.

No, she's not talking to him. Why would she be? She's talking to a well-dressed man standing below an umbrella while he waits for the traffic to slow enough for him to cross. Although, he gives her a dirty look when she speaks. "What is it?" He demands in a low voice, eyes flitting back and forth as if nervous someone will spot him consorting with someone like her. Someone dressed in the raggedy remains of a woman's blouse and bearing dark blue marks below her eyes. Her feet are bear on the sidewalk and she walks with a slight limp.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir." She says hurriedly. "But...you wouldn't happen to know of somewhere I can stay do you?"

The business man scoffs as if she's being outrageous. Without giving her a second glance, he reaches out and jabs the pedestrian crossing button, grumbling in irritation when it doesn't work.

"Please," She continues desperately. "I don't need much. Just a roof over my head, some place abandoned, anything." But her pleas go unnoticed and soon, the traffic light has turned red and the cars stop rumbling by. The man shoves past her and stalks across the road, complaining about something like 'damned homeless...think they can guilt us into giving them money'. And then he's gone, mixed in with the thin crowd of pedestrians that cross back and forth to both sides of the intersection.

And the Soldier keeps moving too, unsure of why he stuck around as long as he did. He reaches up and tugs his hood down further over his scarred face, bowing his head low as joins the flood of people moving across town, despite the rain. But before he can go too far, his feet stop moving. He isn't entirely sure why. Then again, that's a theme nowadays. He tends to do a lot of things without thinking recently. He's actually starting to get used to it.

So when his legs tell him to stop, he does. And he follows his body's order to look over at the young homeless woman, who is still trying to get someone to suggest a place to stay. And suddenly...his eyes narrow. Why does she seem familiar? Well, maybe not _her_ specifically but _this_. This situation. Just like the name Bucky and the face of the Captain, him standing here, watching the poor woman in need...feels like an echo in his mind. Like he's done this before in some long-forgotten life.

There's something else too. Something that _is _specifically her. She's just...so...skinny. And scrawny and pale. Even her hair, which should be blonde, is faded and dull. She looks sickly. For some reason, the Soldier feels a pang of some distant emotion in his chest. Not pity, he really doesn't care much. Not sadness, he doesn't remember _ever_ feeling sadness. Just...something. Whatever it is, it sort of justifies him cutting sideways through the crowd, shrugging past people who throw annoyed looks his way and are most certainly more likely to recognize him now.

He approaches her without second thought and when he speaks, his voice is gravelly and quiet from under-use but sounds foreign to his ears, like it's not actually him speaking. "There's a foreclosed hotel a few blocks back." He mumbles, gauging her surprised expression as it quickly shifts to relief.

She smiles at him. A weary, drained smile that only barely touches her eyes. But she still extends her hand to touch his cheek, a gesture he denies instinctively, earning a quizzical look from her which soon fades as well. "Thank you." She says softly. "And God bless you." Then, she limps off in the direction he indicated and disappears into the crowd.

The Soldier watches her go, his brow wrinkling when he tries to decide why he helped her. But, just like always, he doesn't find an answer. So he just keeps walking.

* * *

"It's going to be a dreary one today, folks. Yes, we have rain forecasted for the entire morning into the afternoon hours. Tapering to a drizzle by this evening and lessening into the night." The news announcer's voice is a pleasant monotone for Steve has he sits at his kitchen table, absently stirring the cup of coffee before him. In all honesty, he's been stirring it for almost a full minute now and the sugar is probably melted...but the Captain's mind is not on his breakfast right now. His blue eyes are staring out of the rain-smeared window by the fire escape, his expression distant as he half-heartedly listens to the broadcast.

_Where are you, Buck? _He wonders dully with a deep sigh. _Are _you_ out in the rain now? Or do you have someplace to stay?_ He can't stand the thought of his friend out in the cold and rain with no place to go, which is most likely the case since the majority of his fellow HYDRA agents are now dead or behind bars. Is Bucky even in DC anymore? Did he leave as soon as he pulled Steve out of the river after their battle? But most importantly...how much does he remember? Because clearly, he remembers something. _Something _made him save Steve from drowning that day. And it's killing the Captain to know what.

Sam agreed to help him track Bucky down so, thankfully, he's not alone in this. But they haven't gotten much closer to getting any answers. If there's one thing the Winter Soldier is really good at, it's evasion. He won't be found unless he wants to be. But no matter how many times Sam reminds him of that, Steve isn't going to give up. He'll get Bucky back eventually, it will just take time.

Even now, Steve is awaiting the delivery of a file containing a possible lead to someone who might know where the former assassin is. And he watches the news everyday, scanning background crowds for his friend and listening very closely to announcements of shootings or murders with no leads. He doesn't know if Bucky is still the Winter Soldier, if he's still killing people. And a part of him hopes he'll never hear of anyone matching his description when they interview victims, although part of him always does.

'Did they say brown hair? Blue eyes? That could be Buck!' He'd think to himself as he stares intently at the screen. 'Oh...standing only five feet four inches. No, that's not him.'

Eventually, he'll sit back from the TV once the news is over and glance at the clock. By now, it's almost 5:30 in the morning. He has to get up and meet Sam for their daily run...even though he doesn't exactly feel like running. But he does it anyway because he doesn't want to worry his new friend, who is constantly trying to keep his mind off of Bucky when they don't have an new leads or when they've hit a dead end. Sam is a good guy, one very experienced in the field of self-guilt which has been plaguing the Captain more often lately.

If only he'd been a little bit faster. If only he hadn't gotten knocked down. He could have gotten to Buck sooner and saved him before he fell off the train. Maybe if he hadn't made so many mistakes, his best friend wouldn't be suffering so much now. He wouldn't be so lost and confused and alone in the world. True, he'd be an old man now or maybe even dead...but even that's better than living under the ruthless HYDRA and not even knowing who you are.

Steve sighs and tries to shake those thoughts from his mind. Everyone has insisted it's not his fault Bucky turned out this way, that there's nothing he could have done to stop it. So for now, he'll let himself believe that. At least until another lead comes up short or another 'sighting' turns out to be wrong. Then the cycle will start all over again. And frankly, Steve isn't sure how much longer he can put up with this before he forgets all about the promise he made to Sam not to go running rampant through the city in search of his best friend.

He's always needed Bucky and, even now, that fact hasn't changed. When he thought Buck was dead, it was the most devastating thing that had ever happened to him, rivaled only by the death of his mother. But now he _knows_ he's alive! He's out there somewhere! And Steve is going to get him back, even if it kills him in the end.

* * *

It's a little past six by the time Steve finally meets Sam at their usual spot. The rain is still only a pleasant drizzle so neither of them really mind. The other man is already jogging in place and he smirks at the Captain when he arrives. "You're getting later and later everyday." Sam remarks. "That ninety-six year old body of yours finally getting you down, old man?"

And Steve chuckles in amusement. "Yeah, I guess so." He says as they start slowly jogging up the sidewalk. "But then, what's your excuse?"

"Oh-ho!" The Falcon pilot nods his head, laughing at the challenge. "Just you wait, Stevie-boy! One of these days it's gonna be _me _running circles around _you_!"

Steve smirks at him and gradually picks up pace to a more comfortable speed for someone with superhuman legs. "Alright, alright. Well, in the mean time, you mind telling me how my back looks?" And then he switches from a jog to a run, leaving Sam far behind in the dust.

"Looks pretty good, Cap!" He hears far behind him and Steve laughs.

* * *

He's been walking for hours now, making that same sloppy circle that always keeps him within the city. His body refuses to let him leave, no matter how many times his mind insists that it's safer to flee DC, that people will be less likely to recognize him as the Winter Soldier in other parts of the country. He's even thought about leaving America all together, laying low in some third world country for a few decades until everyone forgets about him. But despite how much sense it makes, he still can't leave. Something is keeping him here, even if he isn't entirely sure what. Of course, he _does_ have his suspicions.

_"Your name...is James Buchanan Barnes."_

_ "SHUT UP!"_

_ "I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend."_

_ "You're my mission! YOU ARE MY MISSION!"_

_ "...then finish it."_

The Soldier's steps falter for a second, just like they always do when the harsh images of his fight with the Captain flood his mind. He claimed they were friends but that can't be true. He said his name is James Buchanan Barnes but those words send a spike of pain through his head, as if each syllable were a knife. For the hundredth, no thousandth time, he wonders why Captain America would simply throw down his shield and submit to the punches of a metal arm. If it really was a trick, meant to make him question his mission...then why does that man's face resonate so deeply with him? Why does he look so _familiar_?!

His metallic fingers curl in, gripping the inside of his pocket so hard he hears a slight tearing sound. He probably just ripped another hole in his already tattered clothes. The fingers flex out again, stretching. He can still feel the echoes of it smashing into the Captain's jaw, again and again.

_"Sometimes, I think you like getting punched."_

He closes his eyes, grimacing at the wave of pain that rolls through him. These phrases that suddenly appear out of nowhere in his mind are always spoken in his own voice, even though he's sure he never said them. And they seem to be getting longer too. They're not just single words or sounds anymore, but entire sentences. Although this one is the most complete yet...and it makes him physically sick to the stomach.

The Soldier staggers a bit, feeling nauseous and light-headed. He sucks in a few deep breaths but it doesn't help much, especially with the pushing of the crowd behind him. Suddenly feeling breathless as well, he decides he needs to get away from them. Away from people and noise and traffic. So without warning, he shoves past them, earning a few alarmed yelps and angry shouts as umbrellas are knocked out of their hands and a few people drop coffee cups onto the drenched pavement.

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" Someone barks, but he ignores them and just keeps hurrying away, trying not to run but stretching his stride as long as possible. His head is spinning now and his stomach lurches, noises are too loud in his ears and he can't take a deep enough breath. His heart is hammering painfully in his chest and some little, self-preservation part of him fears he's going black out. Or throw up. Neither of which sounds appealing.

But he's a Soldier, always has been. So he swallows his urge to vomit and pushes the acknowledgement of his churning stomach aside, deciding to just focus on his vision, which is quickly becoming a tunnel riddled with black dots. He finds his way to a wall, where he leans his weight and allows his eyes to close. He can't hear anything now, except for the thuds of his own heart and the pounding of his head. His legs feel weak from the sudden onslaught of illness and he sinks to the ground, leaning his head in his non-metallic hand. He doesn't make any sounds to betray his suffering so people pass him without a second glance, probably dismissing him for yet another drunk having wandered out of some nearby bar, only to pass out of the streets.

And surely enough, unconsciousness does come for him. His head lulls forward against his knees and his hood falls down to cover to his eyes. He feels suffocated, like his lungs are closing. Maybe that's what brings the name to his attention. _Steve. _But then darkness consumes him and he welcomes it with open arms, glad to be freed from reality, if only for a little while.

* * *

"The Smithsonian?" Steve asks almost excitedly, earning a nod from Sam. The two of them have just arrived at Steve's apartment and are drying themselves off with hand towels from the bathroom.

"Yeah, apparently someone matching your boy's description was spotted there. Wandering around the _Bucky _Memorial." The Falcon explains as he hands the thin file to Cap, who eagerly skims through, searching for a security camera photo or maybe a police sketch of some kind. But there are neither within the documents so he contents himself with reading over the report instead, while Sam gets up to start some coffee.

Surely enough, the description matches Bucky to-a-tee. Although it's still hard to tell without an actual photograph to go on so Steve tries not to let his hopes go too high. That's almost impossible though. "This could be him." He says, mostly to himself.

"Do you think it is?" Sam asks lightly as he leans on the counter by the coffee machine, folding his arms over his chest.

"Could be." Steve replies without looking up from the manilla folder. "But if it is him, it might mean he's trying to remember. Or he's at least interested enough to go the memorial and look around."

"Well, I guess that's as good a start as any." Sam says, watching his friend with a cautious eye. Steve is Captain America, he's practically a one man army. Untouchable in almost every way. But he has a weakness and it's his severe lack of self-preservation when it comes to helping people. Particularly people close to him. People like Bucky. He has no idea if the Winter Soldier is still dangerous, if he's still out to complete his last mission and end Steve's life. Cap seems pretty sure he isn't, that he had his chance to kill him and saved his life instead. But that doesn't mean he can't change his mind. And the last thing Sam wants is to see Bucky turn on Steve once again. Because this time, it might not end so well.

"We've gotta go after him." Steve announces finally, stuffing the files back into the folder and then striding across the apartment to grab his shield, which was recovered on the side of the river a few days after he was hospitalized. At least he hasn't gotten so reckless as to leave _it_ behind.

"Right now?" Sam asks. "I just made coffee." But he follows regardless, suddenly glad he now keeps his newly repaired Falcon suit in his car at all times. Who knows how sloppy this might end up?

* * *

When he eventually comes to, the Soldier is relieved to feel that his sickness has subsided. He blinks open his heavily shadowed eyes and finds himself sitting against a very familiar graffiti-ridden wall. He must have only been unconscious for a few minutes because not much has changed in the scene before him.

People are waiting at the intersection for the next red light, traffic speeds by relentlessly, and no one pays him a single mind as he tiredly pulls himself to his feet. But he's glad they don't, it's easier that way. He gazes thoughtfully at the wall behind him, frowning when he realizes he really did walk in a big circle. Inside this abandoned building is where he slept last night. ...or two nights or. Or was it three? He can't tell. Regardless, the Soldier is exhausted so he trudges around the side of the run-down, foreclosed hotel and finds the broken window where he entered before.

He slips inside, vaguely wondering what it is that keeps him in this city, keeps him going in circles when he tries to leave. It doesn't make sense that his body would instinctively keep him here, in such a dangerous place, just because he used to be friends with the Captain. _If _that's even true. Admittedly, a small part of him -a very small part- is beginning to suspect it might be.

"You know, when you told me about this place, I didn't think you'd be coming here as well."

The Soldier whips around, heart slamming into his ribs at the suddenness of the voice. His eyes are wild and dangerous when they find her, huddled in the corner. His metal fingers flex, hissing quietly with mechanical movement. But he relaxes slightly once he recalls who she is. The homeless girl from earlier.

"Sorry," She says, noticing the mildly panicked look on his face for that split second. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The Soldier doesn't respond. His eyes pass over her once, deeming there's no place she could be hiding a weapon, before he turns back toward the window to leave.

"No, wait!" She calls after him. "You don't have to go!"

Despite his urge to get away from her, he pauses. His legs are exhausted and he's sure he can't walk another mile without collapsing. He could always sleep someplace else...but he hasn't found another abandoned building on his walks. This is the safest place right now.

"I don't take up much room." She continues, a hint of humor in her voice as she holds up her thin arm. "I think we can manage."

With a quiet sigh, he leaves the window and turns to face her, his dark blue eyes studying her closely. She's definitely not a threat to him. Hell, he could probably snap her in half with one hand. And this place is pretty large, he can probably find a place to sleep where she won't bother him. So with a grimace, he nods.

The young woman's eyes light up and she smiles. "I'm Anna, by the way."

The Soldier doesn't respond to her and, instead, trudges toward the metal staircase that leads to the second floor. If she's staying down here, he's going upstairs. And he disappears up to the next floor without so much as even second thought, hoping to get a decent night's rest and be gone before she wakes up.

* * *

They spend hours wandering the museum, as well as the surrounding city. But just like always, nothing comes of it. They don't find Bucky, not even a solid confirmation that he was ever here. Even after speaking with a few regular patrons and the security officers, they still can't be sure Bucky was at the memorial. So by the end of the day, both Steve and Sam are incredibly frustrated.

Steve, because he'd been so hoping that he would at least be _sure _his friend had been here. Which he's not. And Sam, because how hard can it be to spot a man standing almost six feet tall with a metal arm?! Then again, the same can be asked of them.

Now, they're walking back to where Sam left his car in the parking lot of a nearby drugstore. Both of them stuck in silence as their minds wander. Occasionally, Sam will steal a glance at his companion or try to make a light-hearted remark, to which Steve always replies as positively as he can. But both of them know their search is getting no where. They're failing miserably and, if anything, Bucky is growing further and further away instead closer.

Sam climbs in the driver's side and Steve into the passenger's seat. The radio automatically comes on and neither of them move to turn it off, content with the mild distraction from their troubling thoughts. The car pulls out of the parking lot and joins the rest of the traffic as they rumble toward Steve's apartment. Another lead gone dead. Another false hope of finding Bucky...

* * *

The Solider only manages to sleep for probably three or four hours before instinct jars him awake. When it does, he finds himself stretched out in the hallway of the upper floor, having discovered the previous time he stayed here that all the beds have long since been removed. For a long time, he lays there, swallowing several times to soothe his sore throat.

In those first few days after his fight with the Captain, he was always confused when he woke up with a sore throat every day. But he's since figured it out. He screams in his sleep. Not loud, just enough to be painful the next day. He doesn't know why he does it, he never remembers the nightmares they stem from...he just knows that one day, he woke mid-scream and was completely convinced someone was trying to kill him. But there was no one around him. That was also the same day the name Bucky started floating through his head a lot...

With a grimace, he sits up. Through the windows above him, he can see that the sky is getting darker, either with storm clouds or the approaching evening. Maybe both. Normally, he would just stay here...but... The Soldier frowns deeply at the sound of the girl moving around downstairs. He doesn't want to stay here with her around. So he gets to his feet and starts for the winding staircase, ignoring the stiffness of his back until he can get outside and stretch more freely.

His heavy boots clang against the metallic surface, making it impossible for him to pass by without her noticing. So she glances up at him. This time, however, she doesn't smile. She doesn't say anything. She just watches as he goes to the window and prepares to step back outside.

But before he can-

"Who's Steve?" She asks gently, making him jolt to a stop. Only then does he remember that that name went through his head earlier before he blacked out. His head throbs as the memories struggle to surface but nothing comes of it. He feels breathless again as he leans on the windowsill and closes his eyes to hopefully steady himself. "Um, I'm sorry." She continues, sounding distressed. "I didn't mean to upset you...it's just..."

He looks sideways at her through his bangs, dark eyes scrutinizing her painfully familiar semblance as he struggles to slow his heavy breathing.

"...you talk in your sleep." She explains carefully, edging a bit toward the wall at the slightly wild look he's giving her. Not for the first time, she wonders if he's dangerous. But then again, he helped her, so she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but you're not exactly quiet about it." When he doesn't reply, she continues. "You kept saying the name Steve. I guess...I was just curious who that is."

But the Soldier doesn't answer her. Instead, his glare darkens and he slips out the window, stuffing his metal arm into the pocket of his stolen hoodie. He doesn't owe her answers and he really doesn't feel like making himself sick with the effort of trying to remember someone who doesn't matter anymore.

Whoever _Steve_ is, whether that's the Captain or not, he's not his friend. Not anymore, if they ever were. He's a fugitive, an assassin. And he's leaving DC so he never has to think about _him_ again.

* * *

"I'll see you later, man." Sam says as he and Steve exchange a one-armed hug. He pats the Captain's back before pulling away and offering a supportive smile. "I'll contact some people on my way home, see if they have any leads. I'll let you know what I find out tomorrow."

"Alright," Steve says with a half-hearted smile. "Thanks, Sam." And then the other man walks away down the hall toward the elevator and Steve shuts the door, not bothering to slide the dead bolt into place. With a small sigh, he turns to his apartment and goes to the TV, flicking it on. The news isn't on yet but he still sinks onto the sofa and buries his face in his hands for a minute, rubbing the stress out of his temples. _Where on earth are you, Buck?_

* * *

He walks for the rest of the day, his mind wandering aimlessly as his feet carry him toward nowhere in particular. He's going to leave DC tonight, after it gets dark. After all, it's not like he has money to pay for a cab or the bus and he doesn't feel comfortable hitching a ride in some random person's car. (For all he knows, he might kill them...) So he'll have to steal a car and that's always easier at night, when there are fewer people around to witness it.

So the Soldier walks, not wanting to go back to the foreclosed hotel or stay in one place for too long. He slowly paces the streets, dark eyes occasionally flicking upward as the sun slowly sinks toward the horizon. As it does, the sky burns away the dull grey of rain clouds -which are finally dispersing- and replaces it with fiery oranges and reds, the remaining clouds taking on a pink hue.

The Soldier watches the sky change without interest, although some little, long-buried part of him suddenly feels like chuckling as the words, _He'd like to draw this _float through his mind. Who would like to draw this? He isn't sure. Vague images of scrawny shoulders dressed in suits that are many sizes too large, tiny wrists and slim fingers expertly sketching on a notepad, the heavy smell of coffee and mildew in the air... An apartment.

Suddenly, the Soldier stops. He stares questioningly at the building his feet have brought him to. He frowns when he recognizes it. This is the place where he tracked Nick Fury...and shot him. This is-

_Steve!_

The name slams through his head so quickly his heart skips a beat and he staggers backwards, shocked by its abrupt intense presence in his mind. His heart is suddenly hammering in his chest and he feels breathless, the same way he always feels when these ancient memories surface without warning. The Soldier slowly backs away from the door, which is only about four feet in front of him, as if he were about go inside.

As he turns to hurry away, he has to fight the onslaught of flashing words and pictures in his head. A back alley, _sometimes I think you like getting punched, _slinging an arm over his shoulder, girls, a fair, a car... _Steve. Where did Steve go? _The enlistment office, _Are you really going to do this again? _

His breathing is heavy and he presses his hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut against the painful throbbing. Why won't the memories stop? They're never this forceful!

_This isn't a back alley, Steve, it's war! _Fear, dread, concern. _Nothing to prove. _Why won't he listen? Dancing, girls, worry. _Don't do anything stupid until I get back. _It's his last night... _You're a punk. _

The Soldier is gasping for air now, his hand gripping his shaggy hair as he stumbles across the street, earning outraged beeps from the cars he's cutting off. But he doesn't care. It hurts. Why won't they stop?! But admist all the confusion and fear, a part of him is practically twitching with relief. These memories -yes, they're definitely memories- have been bottled up for so long. As soon as they would start to surface, HYDRA would wipe them out and shove them down and replace them with lies. The person who he used to be... The person that he _should_ be has been pushed so far away he's suddenly afraid he might be gone. He can remember more now of this man Bucky Barnes. Although he's still a stranger, he's one of those strangers you feel like you've met before and you'll wrack your brain for hours trying to recall where you met them.

Right now, Bucky is one of those strangers. Right now, he's still the Winter Soldier... But as he staggers over to the sidewalk, leaning most of his weight on the sides of buildings...he suddenly wonders. _Can_ he be Bucky again? Even after all this? Is Bucky really this strong, to be able to come back after having been _destroyed _hundreds of times over seventy years? The Captain seemed to think so when they were fighting. He was so sure that he dropped his shield and submitted to taking enough of a beating to render him nearly unconscious. ...and the Soldier _did_ stop. He didn't kill the Captain. So...had that been _his_ choice or _Bucky's_?

Unfortunately, he doesn't get the chance to make that decision. Because as he's passing a narrow alleyway nestled between an old movie theater and a drugstore...he hears a sound he hasn't heard since 1945. The sound of knuckles cracking across cheekbones and the pained cry of someone who _definitely _shouldn't be in a fist fight.

Before he can stop himself, he stomps down the alley, scowling darkly when he finds the perpetrator standing over the crumpled form of their fragile-looking victim, whose dusty blonde hair is sticking to their forehead with blood. With a furious growl, the Soldier sees red. And Bucky doesn't interfere as the Winter Soldier takes over. If anything, he cheers from the sidelines as his fist flies toward the man's jaw, whooping excitedly at the satisfying _crack_ it gives upon impact.

The Soldier's opponent isn't actually much of an 'opponent', since he levels straight to the ground with one teeth-shattering hit. Leaving the former assassin standing over him with a near-triumphant smirk on his face. Although, when he glances down at the victim, he frowns. He feels a pang of disappointment when he doesn't find a pale, scrappy young man rising to his wobbly feet and assuring him he had the fight handled. Instead, he sees a very familiar young woman struggling to push herself onto her hands and knees. Still, the Soldier leans down, gripping her under the arm and hefting up to a standing position, which once again leads him to wonder why he's helping her.

"Th-thank you..." Anna mutters, sniffling as blood rolls down from her bruised nose. She presses her sleeve against it and tips her head back, offering her savior a half-smile. "I uh, didn't think he'd followed me here." She says, rather cryptically as she throws a kick into the unconscious man's ribs. "Jerk..."

And before he even knows why, he's asking, "Who is he?"

Anna looks up suddenly, as if startled he's actually speaking to her. "Ah, so you _can_ talk, after all. I was convinced you must have been suffering from laryngitis or something." Her voice is humorous and light, despite the blood that sticks to her lips and cakes her forehead, which is bearing a pretty nice gash. "He's my ex-boyfriend." She answers with a slight shrug, disgust marring her features for a moment. "He's _been_ my ex for almost six months now...but he won't leave me alone."

"Is that why you're on the streets?" He wonders, deciding not to fight his newly-found curiosity. Truth be told, it's probably an improvement. The Winter Soldier never asked questions...

She nods, a sentimental look on her face as she gingerly removes her sleeve to check if her nosebleed has stopped. "Yup..." She sighs, pressing it back once more as another drop of blood rolls down her lips. "I guess I'm just a little runaway."

"Why not go home?"

Anna pauses, her expression souring for a second. "I guess...Hank _was_ my home. I haven't seen my parents in years. I moved out when I was only sixteen so I could live with _him._ Never spoke with them after that..."

"Maybe you should." He mumbles as they start walking out of the alley, not wanting to be around when the cops inevitably show up to investigate.

But Anna only sighs, looking a little annoyed. At his questioning look, she shakes her head. "Sorry, I guess I'm just a little frustrated that you basically know my whole life story now...and I don't even know your name."

And now it's his turn to hesitate, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling a bit in thought. After a long, indecisive minute -in which she appears to accept she's never getting a name out of him and instead falls into step beside him and quietly stares straight ahead- he tells her, "Bucky."

"What?" She asks, confused.

"My name." He clarifies. "It's Bucky."

* * *

Steve is laying on his back on the sofa, his blue eyes staring thoughtfully at the ceiling fan as it whirls slowly above him. For a while, he tries listening in on the commotion from his neighboring apartments, trying to decipher the loud voices as they argue and laugh. Anything to distract himself from obsessively checking his cell phone to see if Sam has called yet, (because Natasha turned it on silent for one of their missions and for the life of him, he can't figure out how to turn it back off), or staring at news all night. But, for all the Serum has done for him, it hasn't givin him super-sonic hearing. ...or a Bucky tracking device, for that matter. Which would be incredibly useful right about now.

But once it becomes apparent that eavesdropping is a bust, he sits up. No point in laying around all day and being depressed. Technically, he's gone almost seventy years without Bucky. What's a few more days? ...or weeks...or months... And suddenly he groans and reclines his head against the wall. He's contemplating going for another run, just to keep his mind occupied, when he noticed the screen of his cell phone lighting up.

In a mad scramble of hands, he grabs it up and presses the green button, which Nat instructed him means 'answer'. "Hello?" He asks, trying to keep his voice stable so he doesn't sound like a raving loon.

"Hey, Steve." It's Sam! "I made those calls like I promised."

"And?" He urges. "Have you heard anything?" Although he frowns slightly at the sound of many voices in the background. And not the voices of Sam's children or wife. These are strong, commanding voices. Cops?

"Um, not exactly." Sam replies, his voice followed up by the sound of a car door slamming shut.

"Sam," Steve begins suspiciously. "Where are you?"

"Like I said, Cap. I made those calls...but I had to hang up because I overheard something a little more interesting."

"Oh?" Steve asks, already moving to put on some shoes so he can be ready to go out the door once Sam stops beating around the bush.

"Yep, apparently, some distressed bystander made a call to the local cops. They heard what sounded like a fight in a back alley. Well, come to find out, this young gentleman I'm looking at right now had been beating up on his ex-girlfriend...when a mysterious, hooded figure strolled right up to him and clocked him in the jaw. Knocked him out with one hit."

Steve stops, his eyes closing in irritation. "Sam, that could have been anyone. What makes you think it was Bucky?"

"Because the same distressed bystander came over to check it out once it got quiet...and caught a glimpse of someone matching the description of your boy escorting a bloodied up young lady down the street."

At this, Steve grabs his shield and heads out the door, his tone a little more urgent now. "Where? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"You know that drugstore where we parked this morning...?"

"No way..." Steve breathes in disbelief. They'd been _that_ close to Bucky?! And they didn't find him?!

"I'll meet you out front." And then Sam hangs up and so does Steve. He's down in the parking garage in thirty seconds flat and by the end of the next thirty seconds, he's peeling out on his motorcycle, roaring in the direction of the drugstore with his shield strapped to his back.

* * *

"So what made you help me?" Anna asks as she carefully wipes the blood from her face with a discarded tee-shirt she found in the lobby of their foreclosed hideaway, where they're sitting now. "Because it can't be my charming good looks." She chuckles, managing a battered grin.

Bucky doesn't laugh and he doesn't really smile either, but there's a certain softening of the pinch between his eyes that passes for both, anyway. "I don't know." He admits in a raspy voice. "I guess...you reminded me of someone."

"Steve?" She guesses, peeking up at him from below bruised eyelids. He doesn't reply, but she's grown used to that by now. So instead of pushing the question he's clearly sensitive about, she instead says, "Well thank you. Again. Jerk probably would have killed me if you hadn't showed up..."

"He's abusive." Bucky mutters darkly, earning a snort from Anna.

"You don't say?" She grumbles sarcastically. "I thought I ran away from him because he didn't buy me enough pretty clothes."

Bucky glares at her, but she smirks at him and he looks away.

"So, Bucky," She begins casually. "How did _you_ end up on the street?"

Once again, he doesn't give her an answer. Instead opting to stare absently into the distance, that pinch between his eyebrows coming back again. He glances over at her when she sighs indignantly.

"Alright, we'll play the guessing game then." She decides, leaning forward and folding her narrow arms over her chest. "Bankrupcy?" He closes his eyes and leans back against the wall, not in the mood for games. "No? Hm, your wife kick you out?" But he still doesn't let anything on so she continues, her voice slightly quieter when she asks, "Running from the law?" At the slight tightening of his jaw, she frowns and sits back as well, looking slightly troubled.

Bucky opens his eyes to gauge her expression, confused when she suddenly shrugs as if she doesn't care he's a wanted criminal.

"That's fine." She says. "Just so long as you didn't kill anybody, I don't care." There's a humorous grin on her face when she says that and then she stands up, obviously not noticing the uncomfortable glare on his face. "Well, I don't know about _you_, Bucky the Kid, but I'm starving."

He slowly climbs to his feet until he's towering over her, but even then she doesn't seem to take much notice.

"How about we go find something to eat, huh?" She smiles, playfully punching him in his metal arm. Her eyes grow wide and then she snorts. "Wow...someone works out. What, were you a body builder before your life of crime or something?"

* * *

Steve's shoes smack over the pavement as he marches across the parking lot, a man on a mission. His shield is strapped to his back and he's wearing a tan jean jacket over his white tee-shirt. He pinpoints Sam immediately, leaning on the side of a blue Toyota. The Captain nods his head stiffly when the Falcon spots him and Sam wastes no time in ducking into his vehicle and turning on the engine. Steve slips into the passenger seat and sits forward, looking eager yet determined. The car careens out onto the street and they speed in the direction the informant saw Bucky walking.

"Who do you think the woman was?" Sam wonders without taking his eyes off the road. "Why would your boy be helping some random girl?"

"I don't know." Steve replies shortly. "But if he _is _helping her, it could mean two things. One, Bucky helped her out of the kindness of his heart..." Both men exchange skeptical looks. The _Winter Soldier _doesn't have a kind bone in his body. "Or two, she's HYDRA."

* * *

When Anna had first mentioned getting something to eat, Bucky wasn't sure what she had in mind. Lately, he'd been eating whatever food he could steal. Of course, not everyone is an assassin who's so light on their feet they can literally walk up behind someone and grab a bag of fast food off their table without anyone noticing...so it makes sense that she would have other strategies.

"Did you used to live around here?" She asks as they walk purposefully down the sidewalk, her pace surprisingly quick for someone with such a terrible limp and such short legs.

"No." He says shortly, earning a sigh from her.

"Then I guess we'll just have to do some exploring." She mutters.

"And what are we looking for?" He grumbles.

"A fast food place." She tells him, a sly smile on her pale lips. Then, digging around in her pocket for a second, she pulls out a worn leather wallet and waves it around, her grin spreading. "Figured Hank won't be needing this too much since he's out cold in that alleyway." At the way Bucky eyes her, one of his eyebrows going up, Anna snickers and shakes her head. "Don't worry, I left him a credit card. I guess I'm just nice like that."

And Bucky nods, unable to keep himself from shaking his head in near-amusement at her. How can someone so frail and tiny be so sly that she could have stolen a wallet off Hank without him noticing? Then again, it doesn't really matter, does it? They've got money for food so that's all either of them care about.

About five minutes later, they stumble on a McDonalds and Anna disappears inside the double glass doors while Bucky waits out in the parking lot, still uncomfortable with the idea of being trapped in a well-lit building with lots of people. He leans on the fence outside, between two large shrugs and absently picks at the chipping green paint. The street is abnormally quiet today, probably because of all the rain. Maybe that's why the sudden presence of headlights is so noticeable.

The blue Toyota rolls by at the slow speed of a tourist...or an undercover cop. So Bucky lowers his head and eventually kneels down on one knee and pretends to tie the laces of his shoes. He almost sighs in relief when it turns around a corner and leaves the fast food restaurant behind. Although something like familiarity prickles down his spine when he catches wind of the passenger's voice from the rolled-down window. He sounds like-

"Soup's on!" Anna announces proudly as she strides over to him, holding up the paper bag that smells strongly of burgers and fries, as well as a cup carrier containing two large sodas. Bucky stands up from his kneeling position and nods approvingly.

"We should go." He says quietly, glancing over his shoulder.

"Why?" She asks falling to step beside him as he starts walking away. "Did something happen?"

"No." He assures her in a gravelly voice. And he doesn't elaborate any further, despite her questioning looks. They jog across the street toward the dog park in front of them. It's empty, apparently no one likes to walk their canine companions at night. So the two silently agree to eat there before heading back to the hotel.

Anna is quiet, apparently lost in thought, as she hands him a burger and a cup of cries, along with a drink. And he accepts them gratefully, even if he doesn't say thank you. The grass is still wet from the rain so he leans on the side of a nearby shade tree, allowing Anna to sit on the bench. She looks at him with a strange expression for a second before sitting down and he knows it's because there's plenty of room for two on that bench.

He looks away from her questioning stare and instead takes a sip of his drink, opting to gaze out over the darkening city as its street lights flicker on, casting spotlights on the sidewalk.

"You were in the war, weren't you?" She says softly. And Bucky goes rigid at her words. Memories crash into him, one at a time. A barrage of flashing images about bullets and gas and tanks. Pain and fear and paranoia. He bows his head so she won't see his distraught expression and struggles to hear her over explosions and commanding voices when she next speaks. "It's just that...you remind _me _of someone too. My brother."

Bucky takes a steadying breath as the memories lessen and finally subside. He glances up at her, his brow wrinkled in pain from his pounding head. But apparently she takes it as acknowledgement of her words so she continues.

"We were real close, Tom and I." She tells him, a ghost of a smile on her face. "Best friends even though we were nothing alike. We were practically opposites ends of the spectrum in every way."

Bucky frowns because that sounds very familiar. But this time, the name doesn't send a stab of pain through his head. In fact, the very corner of his lips twitch upward when it comes to him. _Steve. _

"I was so worried about him when he went off to war. I even went as far as to try and enlist so I could go with him but...they turned me down. For, uh...obvious reasons." Anna sighs, motioning to her scrawny frame. "So Tom went alone. He came to visit every once in a while, when he got temporary leave and...that's when things started to change. He started talking less and he wouldn't crack many jokes. He wouldn't sit still and wouldn't look me in the eyes..." She closes her eyes and bows her head. "My parents told me he was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder."

Bucky tilts his head, confused by the long-winded term. Surely, it must be the same as the shell shock that plagued so many of his comrades. He leans forward slightly, expecting her to continue. But she doesn't. Not for a long moment, anyway.

"So I, um, I guess that's where I was going with this..." She mutters, glancing sideways at him. "If I'm right, and I think I am, you...you don't have to worry, okay? I get it. I really do. War is horrible, horrible thing. It can change people. It certainly changed Tom..."

Bucky doesn't say anything. Mostly because he isn't suffering from shell shock, as far as he knows. But, hey, it's a good a cover as anything. So he doesn't deny it. "What happened to your brother?" He asks gruffly, wanting to change the topic from her trying to 'comfort' him. Her expression darkens and she parts her lips as if to answer when-

_BANG!_

Anna screams in surprise as the ground directly to Bucky's right explodes as the bullet makes impact. Gravel and dirt rain from the air for a moment as the assassin whips around, eyes immediately hardening. If there's one thing he _is_ used to and almost semi-comfortable with, it's getting shot at. He finds the shooter instantly...and he growls under his breath.

"You're gonna regret messing up my boy Hank!" The man hollers as he erratically waves his handgun in the air, grinning like a psychopath. "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Cheapshot! I won't miss again..."

Bucky can feel Anna's terrified eyes on him as he crouches down behind the tree, not even flinching as bark bursts from it when a second bullet collides with his hiding spot. He steals a look at her, only to find her shakily sitting on her knees behind the bench. He motions with his hand for her to stay still...and then he kicks into action. All thoughts of Bucky Barnes gone, he reverts to the Winter Solider. And charges forward.

* * *

They're circling the perimeter of the last place Bucky was spotted when they hear the gun shots. Sam and Steve exchange wide-eyed looks before the Falcon slams on the brakes and pulls a sharp U-turn, the car peeling back in the direction of the fight. Steve reaches into the back seat for his shield, slipping it onto his arm and tensing as the sound of the firing becomes louder. The police will be here soon. He has to take care of this before they arrive. _Don't do anything stupid until i get there, Buck! _

* * *

_Poor sap. He has no idea who he's dealing with._ The Bucky part of him says as he charges the shooter, eyes dark and unfeeling as the gun is leveled with him once more. He hears a bang but feels nothing, having used his metal arm to knock the bullet away. He has just enough time to see the fool's shocked expression before the Soldier grabs his throat and starts squeezing.

Their attacker kicks and thrashes as he's steadily lifted off the ground, desperate gasps and pleas escaping his lips as he claws at the Winter Soldier's metal hand. But the assassin only holds firm, eyes narrowing as he increases the pressure, his cybornetic arm keening sharply.

But then, he hears the sound of a car quickly barreling into the park and whips around to see who it is -not the cops, he didn't hear any sirens- and he nearly releases the shooter from surprise. A very familiar blue Toyota is idling in the grass behind him with headlights glaring over the park. Both the driver and passenger side doors pop open and once again, Bucky is struck with a sudden urge to release his prey...when he sees him. _Steve._

The Captain is wearing his shield on his arm but it hangs at his side as the blonde man edges closer, a cautious yet near-desperate look in his eyes. "Bucky..." He breathes softly.

The Soldier is about to reply when his captive attacker suddenly jerks violently, causing him to lose his grip. The man staggers backwards, coughing heavily as he dizzily aims his gun at the various people standing in front of him. Bucky reaches out to grab him again with an annoyed growl, but nearly loses fingers as the gun goes off an inch from his hand.

"BACK! STAY AWAY FROM ME!" The shooter snaps breathlessly, waving the weapon back and forth, pointing at everyone at least once. And Bucky snarls dangerously, irritated with this man's erratic behavior.

"Put the gun down." Steve says calmly as he moves closer, his eyes flickering back and forth between Bucky and the gunman. What is going on here? Why is Bucky...? "Things will go a lot easier if you just-"

_BANG!_

The Captain dodges sideways just in time to miss getting shot right in the head. He flashes a warning look to Sam, telling him to be careful, and the Falcon nods his head, muscles tense and ready to jump into action. But Steve is fully prepared to make the first move. This man is dangerous and they can't risk letting someone get hurt. So he allows his shield to slide down into his grip and is about to send it flying...when he realizes Bucky is no longer beside him. In fact, the darkly clad assassin has charged forward so suddenly and silently that even the gunman doesn't realize what's happening until it's too late.

Bucky's steel blue eyes are hard as he lunges forward to grab their attacker but has to change directions when the man pulls the trigger for a fourth time. The bullet speeds off into the street, crashing into a parked car and setting off its alarm, which wails loudly in the night. By now, the cops are right around the corner and closing in fast, surely unnerved by the sound of more gunshots and the car's siren. But Bucky is too close now, too close for some ameteur thug to be able to defend himself. And within seconds, and a few hard punches to the ribs later, their assailant is on the ground gasping for air.

Bucky glares down at him but, shockingly, doesn't move to finish the job. Instead, he kicks the gun away before glancing up at Steve and Sam, who are staring at him with varying amounts of astonishment. And Anna. Who is just now staggering to her feet and rubbing the goosebumps from her arms. For a few seconds, she gapes at Steve, obviously thinking, _That's Captain America! _But then, her gaze returns to Bucky...and she just looks...conflicted.

"We should go." Bucky grumbles hoarsely as he stalks away from the groaning man at his feet. He walks right past Steve without even pausing, his soundless footsteps leading into a dark alley across the street. No one follows him immediately.

Steve and Sam exchange tense looks before the Falcon eventually sighs and tells him, "I'll handle this, let the police know what was going on. You, uh, you go after him."

And Steve smiles gratefully, despite the nervous pinch between his eyes. "Thank you, Sam." In a single, fluid motion, he has his shield strapped to his back and is jogging across the road to follow Bucky, who has changed so much since the last time he saw him. However, before he can get too far, he's stopped by the young woman who Bucky had appeared to be helping.

"Wait a second!" Anna calls after him, her expression dark as she hurries over to the edge of the street. "Are you Steve? Bucky's friend?"

The Captain pauses, taken aback that this girl could know about he and Bucky's friendship. Does that mean...has Bucky been talking about him? But instead of asking that, he simply nods his head. And it might just be his imagination but he's almost certain he sees her lips quirk up at the corners when he does.

"Go easy on the guy." She whispers. "I don't know what happened to him exactly but it's been rough on him."

And Steve stares at her for a moment before nodding again. "I will." Then, he turns in the direction where he can still see Bucky in the distance, and hurries after him. Only to be stopped one more time.

"Oh, and Captain?" Anna calls, lowering her voice for the next bit. "Don't let him fool you. He's been missing you, too."

Steve smirks at her before hurrying over to where Bucky is waiting...

* * *

The former Winter Soldier watches him approach from the dimly lit slot between the two buildings. In the back of his mind, flickering images of Brooklyn back alleys and fist fights flood in, but he pushes them away. He has to focus on the now, and on the startlingly familiar man striding toward him. Bucky tries not to wonder what it means that, for the first time, he's actually able to control the memories before they get too intense. Instead, he leans back on the brick wall behind him and folds his arms, struggling not to look tense as Steve approaches. Even though he is.

The Captain slows to a stop once he's a few feet away, his blue eyes carefully scrutinizing Bucky's face, trying to read the jumbled emotions playing there. "Buck." He greets cautiously, earning a subtle nod from the assassin.

And Bucky parts his chapped lips to say something, but before he can really think about them or stop himself, the words just start tumbling out. "I _do _remember bits and pieces and I just wanted to tell you you're wasting your time if you think things can ever go back to the way they were." He bites his lip to stop the flow of words, grimacing at how harsh that had sounded. Then again, this is the same man he tried to _kill_ less than a month ago. So it shouldn't bother him. Problem is, it does. Especially the heavy silence that follows for what feels like an eternity.

But Steve does speak after a while, even if it is in a quiet, near-defeated tone. "I...I know that, Buck." He sighs, planting his hands on his hips and bowing his head to stare at the space between his feet. "I know things will never be the way they were before."

"So why do you keep coming after me?" The Soldier growls, genuinely frustrated and curious. What keeps Steve on his trail? Why doesn't he just give up?!

"I already told you." The Captain mumbles. "You're my friend, Bucky. You never stopped being my friend."

"I tried to _murder you_!" Buck hisses, peeling himself away from the wall to scowl at his former friend. "If things had gone as planned, you'd be _dead_ right now! By _my_ hand! What don't you understand about that?!"

"Oh, I understand perfectly well." Steve assures him, his voice suddenly sounding light. Almost casual. "I guess...I'm still just that kid from Brooklyn who was always-"

"-too stupid to run away from a fight..." Bucky sighs, his eyes closing in understanding. "You don't have a sensible bone in your body, do you Rogers?" He glances up at the sound of Steve's chuckle.

"I guess not. Suppose I've had to make up for all the stupid you took with you." He jokes softly, feeling the sudden overwhelming urge to playfully shove his friend the way they used to. Although his reverie is snapped when Bucky offers a mild snort of amusement and Steve looks up, almost startled. The Captain's chest aches at the sight of his friend's tired smile and, not for the first time, he realizes it's technically been seventy years since the last time he saw it. Even though it only feels like yesterday right now. "Bucky," Steve begins, reaching out a hand to him.

Bucky cuts him off though. "Like I said, Steve. Things can _never_ be the way they were. You'll always be Captain America and a part of me will always be the Winter Soldier. I'll never be James Buchanan Barnes again, at least not the one you knew. Not exactly."

"Buck-"

But he's silenced by the stern look the Soldier is giving him. "I'll _never_ be him again. HYDRA changed me forever, made me someone completely different..." He pauses, gauging Steve's expression as a flurry of emotions pass over his face, each one as distinct and recognizable as his own. "But...I do remember bits and pieces of who I used to be...and that guy doesn't seem so bad. It'll take time but...I want to..._try _and be a little more like that guy. Like Bucky Barnes." By the time he's finished admitting his new resolve, Bucky's eyes have drifted back to the ground and he feels a bit skittish, unused to speaking so much at one time. Let alone conveying something so personal. But the Captain listened silently through it all and when his old friend finally does steal a look at his face, Bucky finds a soft smile existing there.

"Buck," Steve breathes, still smiling gently. "I became a six foot two, two hundred sixty pound Super Soldier overnight and you didn't even flinch. You got used to the new me. I think I can do the same."

"But you didn't really change much... You just got...taller." Bucky mumbles, mind flaring with the memory of Steve finding him in Zola's lab and rescuing him. It was the first time Steve had never really needed Bucky's help. And yet he'd felt so much _more_ protective after that. Until...recent events, of course.

"Yeah, well you're still the same guy too. Even if you don't believe that." The Captain counters without missing a beat. There's a light in his eyes that says he's telling the truth. He's going to stick by Bucky, no matter what it takes. "You're my friend, Buck. To the end of the line."

And, finally, Bucky smirks back. It's only slight and his brow is still wrinkled with tenseness. But he smirks nonetheless. The next word that escapes him is completely by accident, but he's glad he says it. "Punk."

"Jerk." Steve chuckles affectionately.

* * *

It takes a lot of explaining from Sam and Anna to get the cops to understand it was a one sided shooting, that the gunman had been trying to kill them. Or at the very least, seriously maim Bucky. However, it's not until Steve arrives, his every move shadowed by the hooded figure of the former assassin, that their eyes grow almost comically wide and they cuff the unconscious man without question.

"Thanks, fellas." The Captain says with a smile, watching as they stuff the shooter into their car and turn to salute him. He notices the way they eye Bucky suspiciously and the way his friend turns away slightly to hide his face. "Take good care of him." Steve continues, motioning to the cuffed shooter.

"Oh, uh, we will! Captain, _sir_..." One of the cops stammers before scooping down to stuff the gunman into the car. The other's gaze lingers on Bucky for another short moment before he turns to help his partner. Together, they manage to get the thug into the vehicle and buckled in. "Take care, Cap." The first cop says before slipping into the driver's seat and the other one tips his hat in a silent farewell, his steely gaze still staring at Buck while he takes his place in the passenger's seat.

"You too." Steve says, watching as they drive away toward the police station. And once they're gone, everyone releases a collective sigh of relief.

"He recognized me." Bucky hisses under his breath, glaring daggers after the cops. "Why didn't he say something?"

Surprisingly enough, it's Sam who gives him an answer first. "It's just a guess but, uh,...maybe because you're standing shoulder to shoulder with _Captain America_? I wouldn't mess with you either." After a moment of thought, he adds, "Unless I had a tank on my side or somethin'."

For a split-second, Bucky turns his heated glare on Sam and his muscles tense, as if prepared to attack him. But then, to Steve's great relief, the former assassin relaxes slightly and instead lowers his vision to the ground. Bucky huffs and grumbles, "I've taken down a tank before."

"That actually doesn't surprise me." Sam tells him, winking covertly at Steve. It's only then that the Captain realizes that the Falcon pilot is wearing his suit. So he was just testing the waters with Buck, making sure he won't flip at the tiniest of provocations. Smart. _That doesn't make Sam any less crazy though. _Steve decides silently, a tiny grin on his lips.

"We should get out of here." Steve suggests, motioning to the car he and Sam left idling a few feet away. "Before anything else happens."

Sam and Bucky are just about to agree when they remember the small issue of the homeless girl standing behind them. Buck frowns a bit, not sure what he wants to do about her. He's only mildly surprised to find her smiling softly at him.

"It's okay." Anna says with a shrug. "It's not like I can't take care of myself."

However, Steve shakes his head at her and motions to the car, unwilling to abandon Bucky's friend. "I think I've got a better idea..." He replies with a grin.

* * *

It's morning by the time they return to Steve's apartment. It had taken a lot of time to convince Nick Fury to give Anna a job. He'd argued that she has no special skills and she hasn't been trained to do anything but, finally, he agreed to have her work with computers. Something like that can be taught fairly quickly. Plus, he could see the exhausted desperation on the Captain's face and knew something had happened. Bucky didn't go in with Steve, afraid of what the SHIELD agents would do if they saw him, but Nick didn't need to see the former Winter Soldier to know he was around. He could see him clearly enough within Steve's eyes. And so Steve left Bucky's friend in the capable hands of the newly reforming SHIELD, promising to check in soon.

And then he returns to the car, where Bucky and Sam are waiting. It takes every ounce of will power in his body not to run. Not to let his thumping heart convince him that it had been a bad idea to leave them alone. Not that he doesn't trust Sam to be careful, or Bucky to contain himself...he's just...worried, is all.

So Steve half-jogs into the parking garage where their vehicle is idling. The Captain finds himself frowning in confusion at the way the floor is thumping, as if in beat to some unheard music. And surely enough, after a few seconds of trying to figure out where it's coming from, he pinpoints the source of the muffled song coming from within _Sam's _vehicle.

_Dammit, Sam! Are you trying to get us all killed?! _He growls as he hurries over, annoyed not only because he's told Sam a hundred times that listening to music that loud will affect his hearing, but also because _Bucky_ is stuffed in the back seat! Bucky. Who's suffered so much at the hands of HYDRA and can probably go off on a rampage over the smallest of threats. Bucky. Who looks like he hasn't slept in months and could probably be napping right now if not for the floor-shaking music.

So Steve finally does run to close the distance between them. And he throws open the passenger side door, feeling certain that he's rescuing all of them from their respective demons...only to be completely caught off guard when Sam's words are the first to greet him.

"So you're telling me you've never heard of the Troubleman soundtrack, either?!" The Falcon yells back as Steve slips into the car. And Bucky slowly shakes his head, earning an outraged huff from Sam, who immediately goes to shuffling through his iPod for the album. "Well we gotta change that!"

Steve glances into the back seat, unsure of what he expects to find on Bucky's face. What he _does_ find is mostly to be expected; exhaustion, discomfort, a tense posture that says he'd really like to get out of this car... But one thing catch Steve off guard. And that's the faintly satisfied pull to his friend's lips. Not quite a smile but it's getting there. Steve wouldn't call Buck 'happy' yet or even comfortable around them. But he's trying and that's all that matters.

So Steve allows himself to relax a little as he closes the door, content to put up with the loudness so long as it doesn't bother Bucky. And soon, the car is pulling away into the steadily brightening street and Steve closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. His body aches with exhaustion. Both physical and mental. It's true he hasn't had a decent night's rest for almost a week and now he has Bucky to think about... It's a lot to take in, even for Captain America.

He doesn't realize he's dozing off until he feels a familiar hand on his shoulder. Shaking him awake. Even after seventy years, it still feels familiar... "We're almost there," Bucky whispers below the music, his voice sounding bit tense. "Don't fall asleep."

Steve blinks heavily and nods his head, suppressing a yawn as he shifts to straighten up a bit. "Sorry." He mutters, figuring that Bucky most likely isn't comfortable with just Sam yet. But then, does that mean he's comfortable around Steve? ...probably not. So the Captain forces himself to remain conscious until they pull into the driveway of his apartment.

Sam finally turns down the radio and offers his friend a supportive grin. "Anything else I can help with, Cap?" He asks, stealing a quick glance at Bucky, who hasn't wasted any time with getting out of the vehicle and pacing several yards away. Seeing that the topic of their conversation is out of ear-shot, he lowers his voice and asks, "Are you gonna be okay with him?"

And as much as he hates to admit it, Steve hesitates. He, too, glances fleetingly over his shoulder at Bucky. _Will _they be okay? Or will HYDRA's programming come back and ruin everything? What will he do if Buck tries to kill him again? What will he be _able_ to do? But most importantly...what if it _doesn't_? What if Bucky gets better and things calm down? What if he goes back to being the same guy Steve's been friends with his whole life? For some reason, that's even stranger to think about than his friend reverting back to a murderous psychopath!

It was okay being Captain America and Sargent James Barnes back in the war...but can they be that way in the modern world? When everything is so different?

"Cap?" Sam asks again, his dark eyes searching the other man's very carefully. He's been silent for a while now.

Eventually, Steve sighs and nods his head. "Yeah. Yeah, we'll be alright." _We have to be. _And then he pops open his door and gets out, smiling gratefully at Sam. "And thank you." He says. "I couldn't have found him without you."

Sam smirks and then reaches across the center console. Saying, "Something makes me think he woulda' found you on his own eventually" as the two men firmly shake hands. At Steve's curious expression, Sam nods his head in Bucky's direction. When the Captain turns, he finds his friend watching them out of the corner of his eye.

Steve feels his stomach twist and flutter nervously. The idea of being alone with him is scary. Not because he's afraid for his life. But because he has _no idea_ what to do around Bucky now or what to say. They seemed okay in the alley but...he's so afraid that will change.

"You sure there's nothing I can do?" Sam asks one more time, his own expression nearly as troubled as Steve's as he surveys the former assassin. "Should I have SHIELD watch your apartment or...?"

"No, don't worry about it." Steve says, sounding a lot more confident than he feels. "I can handle it. We'll be fine." _We'll be fine..._

"Well...alright then."

Steve closes the car door and smiles at Sam, waving him off as he pulls away and soon disappears around a corner. ...and then it's just them. Steve and Bucky. Two people who should be best friends...but suddenly feel like strangers. Chills prickle down the Captain's spine as he turns to face the former Winter Soldier, who is standing awkwardly a few feet behind him, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Steve swallows, pursing his lips. "So...do you want to come in...?" He asks almost timidly. "I mean...no offence, Buck...but you look kind of terrible. You can...take a shower, get something to eat... For once in our lives, I think my clothes might fit you so you can change out of-"

"Steve..." Bucky cuts him off, giving him a sort of dark, scolding look that shuts the other man up immediately from his ramblings. The assassin shifts his weight, cold blue eyes studying his former friend's expression very closely. "I told you already, it's not going to be the same..." He mumbles. "I don't think...maybe I should find someplace else to-"

But now it's Steve's turn to interrupt him. "No, Bucky, don't-"

"-to go. I mean, I could-"

"Bucky! Come on!"

But Buck is shaking his head, as if he's already made up his mind. He staves off the Captain's quiet pleas and starts backing up. "Besides," He continues. "We have no idea if HYDRA's programming will come back or...something else will happen. It's safer if-"

"Buck-"

"It's _okay_. Really." He insists one last time. Then, lowering his gaze to the ground so he isn't tempted to give into his friend's begging look, he starts to turn away. "I can get by on my own just fine." He mumbles, silently hating the way his metal fingers flex dangerously. But then, he flinches as a hand closes around his shoulder.

Bucky whips around, tensed and momentarily wild-eyed. But the instant he realizes it's only Steve, his body relaxes. Although his frown only deepens. _This_ is why he doesn't want to stick around! He almost just-

"See, the thing is Buck..." Steve begins, a little knowing smile on his face. "You don't have to." Squeezing his shoulder, Steve lightly adds, "Cause I'm with you. Till the end of the line."

Memories of a funeral. Steve's mother... He's going to be alone. Punk will never take care of himself... _"We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids!" "I can get by on my own." "You don't have to. Cause I'm with you-" _"Till the end of the line..." Bucky mutters out loud, staring thoughtfully at the ground between his feet. Those had been _his_ words. _His_ words Steve had spoken on the helicarrier just before falling into the river.

With a ragged sigh, he looks up. "If I stay with you, I can't promise how long this 'line' is gonna end up..." He warns Steve. "I could kill you in your sleep or something..."

But his friend is only smiling. "I'll keep that in mind." He says, before slinging his arm over Bucky's shoulders and pulling him along toward the door. The Soldier grimaces at the odd sensation of such a friendly touch, but tries to adjust. He'd promised Steve he would _try_ to be 'Bucky'. And try he will.

Shifting below his friend's arm, Bucky frowns. "I remember you being a lot smaller..." He remarks dryly, earning a chuckle out of Steve.

"Yeah? Well, I've known you since we were eight and I'm _pretty sure_ you never had a metal arm before!" He counters. Then, after a moment of thought, he adds, "Man, I can never take you to Stark Tower. Tony would lose it if he saw that arm."

"What Tower? Who's Tony?" Bucky asks.

But Steve only laughs. "You've got a lot to catch up on, pal." He says, donning a warm smile as they enter the apartment. _Hopefully, I'll have all the time in the world to tell you about it._

* * *

_**A/N: Yay! Leisa sucks at endings! :D Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! **_

_**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**_


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